


Stop Giggling, It's a Funeral.

by CousinNick



Series: Or that One Where Jean is Trans, Because None of you Other Dickmunches Wrote it [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Family drama that ends in fluff because Jean makes everything better, M/M, Meet the Family Fic, Trans, Trans Jean is best Jean, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinNick/pseuds/CousinNick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when something unexpected happens, all you can do is laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Giggling, It's a Funeral.

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic Idea was given to me by an anon who requested, "Something happens to Marco and it's Jean's turn to comfort his boyfriend (basically destroy Marco mwahaha)." So, I hope this fic is to your liking, anon!
> 
> ***Spoilers for "A Guy Like Me"...Kinda.***
> 
> Special thanks to Carsan for being my wonderful Editor as well as my Co-writer. c:

Jean hung up his café work apron on the coat rack, humming a song he heard on the car radio on his way home from work, the tune sounding nasally and off-key in his own voice. Bobbing his head slightly to the beat, he kicked off his work boots, the soles of the shoes thudding against the wooden floor as they fell. 

Throwing his car keys in the little bowl by the door, he shuffled his way into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, smiling happily as he spied a plate stacked high with some of Sasha's homemade cookies that she must have dropped off for the two. Popping a caramel peanut butter biscuit in his mouth, he hummed with delight as the confection melted on his tongue. 

However, the full platter, hardly touched, was a little peculiar to the blond. 

Marco, Jean knew, loved Sasha's cookies, whether it was her wicked concoction of maple and bacon oatmeal or her mint fudge glazed chocolate, Marco was always keen to eat his fill, maybe saving a few for Jean -- the ass.

But. These treats had barely been touched, which led Jean to correctly assume something was wrong, and not a petty disaster either, but something really wrong, devastatingly wrong. 

Swallowing the treat, he furrowed his brow as he made his way past the small living room to the hallway, passing the bathroom and entering the two’s shared bedroom. 

He found Marco sitting on the edge of their bed, his hands gripped so tightly around the plastic casing of his phone, the dial tone heard even from Jean’s place at the threshold of the room.

Marco himself looked as if he was half stunned and half numb, his eyes widened but his mouth remained slack-jawed. He kept swallowing deeply at the cold air of the room till his throat was dry, grip white-knuckled, tan face unusually pale. 

Something terrible had happened, and Jean knew it, could feel it. 

Instantly Jean sank down on his knees in front of the other man, carefully prying Marco’s fingers from the phone in his iron grip before he set it down. His eyes caught the caller id flashing on the small phone screen, the name, Jean recognized, as Marco’s eldest brother. Jean felt a tightness in his chest that made him want to bolt from the situation, but he kept his gaze fast on Marco.

"Marco, hey, what's wrong, babe? Talk to me?" Jean whispered, afraid if he spoke any louder it would call attention to the deafening silence of the room, a somberness that pressed against the two in the most evilly desperate of ways. 

Marco only opened his mouth softly before closing it again, repeating the process a few times before his hands came to rub at his face, as if he could wipe the ashen look from his features. 

Sniffling slightly, his eyes staring at a speck on the eggshell color of the wall, he finally spoke. 

"That was my brother, Nico..." Marco heaved a dry sigh, his eyes still plastered to the wall ahead. 

Jean at this point had crawled up onto the bed to hug Marco from behind, rubbing at the bigger mans broad shoulders, trying to ease the tension in the knots he found beneath his skin. 

After a few quiet moments, Marco’s voice finally stuttered alive, his eyes still hollowed.

"My dad passed away." He said, voice sure, stiff in the air of the room.

Jean pressed his cold lips to Marco’s warm skin, humming quietly in understanding, "Nico wants you to go to the funeral?"

Marco nodded, leaning back into Jean’s arms.

"I don't want to go, how bad is that? I mean, I hated the bastard -- he's the one that kicked me out of the house. His freshly turned 18 year old son, he abandoned because he liked something he wasn’t supposed to like..." But Marco’s anger turned into something sadder. 

"It'll make my mother cry if I don't go..." Jean threaded his hands in his boyfriend’s hair, massaging and messing at the perfect inky black locks he found. 

As much as Jean wanted to suggest Marco to feign sick, tell Nico that he couldn't spend the money on gas, couldn’t take the time off from work -- he knew Marco had already made up his mind somehow. He knew that Marco, brave gloriously perfect Marco, would sacrifice himself and his own feelings to make his family happy. 

"You don't have to," Jean kissed the side of Marco’s face softly, letting the man breathe. 

But already Marco’s jaw was hardening and he was shaking his head slowly.

"No, I'll go, but, uh." Marco turned to Jean, a pleading look in his eyes. 

"I'll pack our bags." Jean nodded, resting his chin on Marco’s shoulder. Marco sighed with relief, knuckles brushing over Jean’s own hands till they were clasped tightly together. 

...

"Here -- no, not those socks -- no, the black ones, black ones!" Jean huffed, snatching the roll of socks from his boyfriend’s hands.

"I still don't see why you have to attend the funeral." Jean mumbled softly, his voice always either returning to a somber or angry state when talking about Marco’s father.

"Because I’m his son, plus, it'd make my mom happy." Marco reminded the other man, zipping up his suitcase and dragging it behind him on its wobbly little legs. Jean had to admit he was a little nervous, as this would be the first time he’d meet his boyfriend’s family face to face and not on some shitty Skype program. However, the circumstances of the meeting wouldn't necessarily be that great. 

Marco grimaced sourly. "Rueben, Nico, and his wife and kids will be there, as well as the other relatives...." The freckled man turned off the apartment lights, making sure all the appliances were off -- he didn't trust Jean to close up all by himself. 

Jean inwardly winced, knowing that Marco, coming from a heavily Greek-Italian-Belgian lineage, had a rather large and rambunctious family. This meant lots of old sassy sweet-looking grandmothers, aunts that pinched one’s cheeks, and -- Jean shivered -- children. 

"I love kids." Jean lied. Really, he hated the little bastards with their sticky little hands and spitty chins. Like Jean was one to talk. 

"Anyway, it's not like we have to stay forever," Jean nudged Marco’s shoulder, walking out of the apartment.

Marco nodded, more to himself than Jean, and locked up the door, walking down the hallway with his boyfriend.

"By the way, do they know I'm transgender?" Jean hummed, looking up at Marco.

"Uh...." Marco scratched his upper lip, side glancing in a nervous gesture.

"Damn it, Marco." 

...

The car ride was ten hours, ten hours of hell as Jean and Marco both fought for control of the CD player, Marco wanting to play The SteelDrivers and Jean fighting for the rockin' monster punk tunes of AFI. In the end they accidentally broke the CD player and had to resort to the radio, which was fine because apparently the people in Southern California loved their Ke$ha, pleasing both boys. 

All in all, with three pee breaks, stopping to pet a few ponies on the side of the road (and to take embarrassing comparison photos of Jean and the animals), and a hell of an amount of traffic, they made it to Marco’s old stomping grounds in relatively good time. 

It only took Jean twenty seven minutes to convince Marco to unlatch his white knuckled fingers from the steering wheel of the car and to actually get out of the Jeep to knock on the door.

....

"Marco!" was the enthusiastic reply from a darkly tanned man only slightly taller than Jean’s boyfriend. The two-toned blond instantly knew that this was Nico, the eldest brother, his face scattered with the same freckles on Marco’s own face. 

Tired lines were etched along his eyes, the telltale signs of child rearing, and he seemed to have no qualms with grabbing Marco into his bone crushing embrace. Jean worried his lips between his teeth, watching Marco visibly tense in his brother’s grip. 

After he had released the younger Bodt, Nico turned his attention to Jean, who was nervously sweating and smiling thinly. 

"Uh, hello." He cursed his voice, how it sounded so unsteady. 

"Ah, and this must be John," he smiled. "Jean," Marco corrected his brother, a slight edge of terseness in his voice that Jean tried to soothe away with a squeeze of his boyfriend’s arm. Jean himself could see the tiredness in the eldest man’s eyes, the death of their father probably causing more of a toll for him than on the other siblings -- Jean would try to be nice, try to keep his crassness to a minimal. 

"Right, Jean, I knew that!" Nico’s smile widened -- he clearly didn't. 

But then Nico was stepping towards Jean, and with a lack of personal space, the eldest Bodt was heaving Jean up. Jean swore he could feel the air be literally squeezed out his chest more effectively than any binder had ever done in the past. 

"Okay, Nico, let's not prove the stereotype of Italian touchy-feely-ness." Marco smiled frantically, drawing Jean back to him. 

Nico only curbed his smile some. Taking their bags in his arms he led them into the house that smelled a little bit like Marco, only the accents of cinnamon, honey, and wet dogs were by far the strongest scents. 

...

Leading them up the stairs, being chased by a large group of dogs --'so many dogs' Jean thought with unease-- Nico finally stopped in front of a cheerily yellow painted door.

At the sight of the door, Marco stiffened. 

"Why are we put in Rueben’s old room?" Marco asked, the stress in his voice giving way to a bit of annoyance. Jean, clutching his bags underneath his armpits, only quirked an eyebrow, looking between the two. 

"Because Rueben’s room has two beds--"

"Nico." Marco growled -- actually fucking growled. Jean himself had never seen his boyfriend so very angry in that one moment, his dark eyes flashing. 

"Marco, Dad would have--"

"Nico."

Nico seemed to harden his stare, not budging.

"Uh. Look, I'm pretty sure your dad -- no matter what his views were -- would not want to see his sons fighting. So," Jean coughed slightly, feeling the intense stare of Nico Bodt on him, "...maybe we can just, put our differences behind us, just this once?" Jean sniffed, looking to the two brothers with a sheepish gaze. Abort Jean, stick foot in mouth, Jean, you fuckin' idiot, Jean. 

Sighing, Nico swallowed, turning sharply on his heel -- odd for his height and build -- before he shuffled down the hall to another door, opening it to reveal a young man, a lot younger than Jean, lounging at one of the room’s windows. He had headphones in his ear and was staring out the window sadly, mournfully. The dogs that had been following the three up the carpeted stairs suddenly jumped forward and attacked the other, causing him to snort and smile briefly, petting a particularly giant Rottweiler on the muzzle. The boy had freckles all over his round face, which was the color of cinnamon; his eyes soft and dark like Marco’s. 

Rueben, Jean immediately thought. 

Marco sighed, the tension from his shoulders dipping as he walked into the room, dumping his stuff on the floor near the bed, Jean doing the same. 

"Hey, Rueben." Marco smiled, the most genuine one since this whole trip started (although Jean snorting soda up his nose at the rest stop back in Orange Country made Marco smile pretty damn hard).

"Marco!" The male bounced himself from his stilted seat at the window sill to leap at his older brother, removing his headphones. 

After the two embraced, Rueben turned to Jean, a curious look in his chocolate brown eyes.

Jean only forgot to swallow once, slightly drowning in nervousness.

"This Jean?" Rueben smirked to Marco. Nico snorted from near the bedroom door.

"Be nice." Marco warned, coming up behind his boyfriend, running his warm hands up Jean’s arms. Jean only blushed a little.

"Hi, Rueben I presume? Nice to meet you," Jean held out his hand, but the youngest Bodt shook his head. 

"Nah, we don't shake hands in this family." Rueben smiled wide, a classic Bodt smile, before he was hugging Jean, gentler than Nico had done. 

Jean laughed into the embrace, hugging back. Yep, Rueben would definitely be taking the best sibling award -- besides Marco, that is. 

"Rueben, change of plans. Jean and Marco are gonna stay in this room, okay?" Nico asked the younger sibling, earning a smirk and a huff in return. 

"Told you. Not everyone has such outdated views as you." Rueben stuck his tongue out at Nico, dragging out his own luggage to make room for his brother’s and his boyfriend’s. 

Ah, yes, Jean liked Rueben very much. 

After a couple of seconds, Nico coughed nervously and turned to Marco. 

"Momma's in the garden when you're ready." Nico murmured, leaving the two to freshen up. 

After the taller man had left, Marco chuckled, his laughter bitter.

"God, he's still an ass after all these years."

Jean couldn't help but snicker, "He really is, huh? Has he always had that stick up his ass?" Jean paused to unzip his jacket, it reeked of gas-station cuisine and road dust. 

"As long as I can remember. We think he acquired it when he sat on a pile of kindling during one camping trip back in ‘96." Marco huffed, grinning as he laid down on the bed. 

"Ouch."

"Yeah." 

Jean came to join the giggling man, nesting himself next to his boyfriend of a few years. 

"This was your room, wasn't it?" Jean mumbled into Marco’s polo shirt -- the irony of the brand not lost on him.

"Yeeeeep. Still gaudy as ever." Marco looked around the walls, some of his old band posters scattered about the place, a few ripped thumbtacks clinging for dear life along the drywall. Camouflage strips of wallpaper were set high, the walls paint itself a soft olive green.

After a few quick minutes, Jean leaned up to kiss Marco’s jaw. "Wanna’ go see your Mom?"

Marco made a soft noise of approval. "Yeah, let’s."

...

"You don't feed him?" was the first thing that came out of Marco’s mother’s mouth when she saw Jean, accusatory tone to her words. Skinny, lanky, protruding hip bones, Jean. And here he thought the testosterone injections and time at the gym has been working. 

"Momma, I do feed him -- he eats all the snacks in the pantry -- I have to literally hoard the Christmas cookies you send us each year just to have some for myself!" Marco whined as his mother tugged on his ear again, the freckled flesh becoming red. 

Jean almost pitied the man, that is, until said man described him as a glutton. 

"He's almost as bad as Sasha!" Marco cried once more, wincing as his mother still kept a strong hold of his ear.

At this, his mother, paused. "Worse than the red head?" She murmured in disbelief. Marco nodded, only inflicting more pain on his ear. Jean had the decency to wince along with him.

"Really, Momma Bodt, Marco takes good care of me." Jean smiled, his eyes gentle in the wake of the woman. It was true, Marco was the best man Jean could have ever fallen in love with, and he knew the freckled idiot loved him dearly as well. Marco was always so patient with Jean and his brashness, his douche-y behavior, Marco truly was a Freckled Jesus among men. 

At the other man’s words, Marco’s mother seemed to pause, her face showing pure surprise, mouth pulling open. 

"Hm, I like the sound of that, Momma Bodt!" She suddenly grinned, taking Jean into her arms. For a small rickety looking woman she had a grip as strong as a bull. Jean, for the third time that day, learning a valuable lesson -- Bodts liked to hug. 

Pulling back from the embrace, the small dark woman with graying thatched long hair, leaned toward Jean’s face, motioning for him to bend down before she kissed him motherly on the temple, smiling as she pulled away.

Jean felt his heart swell, feeling a wave of happiness at the affection of his boyfriend’s mother. His own mother hadn't bothered to talk to him in over five years. He bit his lips, willing the sentimental tears to not fucking fall. 

Marco, sensing his boyfriend’s emotional state, slid next to him, hugging him close to his side.

Quite pleased with the picture the two boys made in front of her, the older woman clasped her hands together. 

"Never a better match!" She exclaimed.

"Hey, Ma, what about me and Kathrine?" Nico asked from his seat at the garden bench, his knee bouncing a toddler on it. The kid squealed happily, spittle falling freely from his chubby lips. Jean inwardly cringed. 

Mrs. Bodt curled her lip at her eldest son. "Kathrine could have done much better," She muttered before she, pushing Jean by his shoulder, led the two back into the house, mumbling something about gnocchi, apple pie, and Jean’s bony body.

...

Jean had eaten his entire weight in Gorgonzola sauce slathered gnocchi by the time the other relatives were expected to arrive for the reminiscence of Mr. Bodt and his long lived life.  
  
After Momma Bodt had led the two boys back into the house and into the warmth of the kitchen, Jean was introduced to Katherine, Nico’s wife, who was cutting up an assortment of vegetables into nice little bite sized bits. Marco was the first to hug the other woman, his broad shoulders swallowing her short but curvy figure. Laughing in the other Bodt’s embrace, she turned her sweet and deep brown eyes to Jean, who Momma Bodt had shuffled into the spacious cooking area like a curious item to be appreciated.  
  
Swatting the back of Marco’s head in a silent signal, Marco sighed before he easily brought his fingers to the right side of his face, removing his eye. Putting the little glass mounded shape in a black little box he kept at all times in his back pocket, he blinked in the heat of the kitchen. Jean, figuring that that meant they would be cooking near the already hot gas stoves, yanked a small little paper foil packet from his own pocket. Tearing it open with his teeth he passed the contents of the paper to Marco wordlessly. Marco smiled, taking the threads of the contraption before he was sporting a disposable eye patch. Kissing Jean on the cheek as a thank you, he threw the wrapper in the trash underneath the sink.  
  
Watching the whole silent and normative display, the black haired Vietnamese woman clasped her hands together, a happy laugh bubbling from her lips.  
  
“Ah, so then you must be Marco’s partner, Jean!” Katharine’s voice was like bells as she addressed the other male, Jean thought her smile might be able to put even Christa’s to shame, and that was saying something.  
  
“Uh, yeah, hello.” Jean scratched the back of his neck -- not sure if Katharine was a hugger, but then she solved that dilemma for Jean by giving him a hearty embrace, grinning back to Marco.  
  
“He’s cute, Marco.” She winked and nudged the taller male in the shoulder. Jean blushed, Marco himself laughing at Katharine’s compliment to the blond. Adjusting his eye patch, Marco hummed.  
  
“Wait till you hear him snore, you’ll reassess your favorable opinion.” Marco teased, causing Jean to nudge him in the ribs this time, a half-hearted glare shot in his direction.  
  
“A snoring boy means he doesn’t eat enough spicy foods, here,” Momma Bodt scooped up a soup ladle of some sort of thick broth, nudging it towards Jean’s lips. Sending a curious glace to his boyfriend, who only raised his dark brows, Jean curiously took a sip. Swallowing down the hot concoction, he felt his tongue burn pleasantly.  
  
“Good?” Marco’s mother asked, returning the ladle to the pot.  
  
Nodding his head in a movement of agreement, Jean swallowed the soup on his tongue.  
  
"Very good.” He smiled, earning a pat on his cheek for good measure.  
  
Momma Bodt smiled in satisfaction before she then swatted Marco on the shoulder, “Make sure he eats more spicy food -- garlic will clear up his snoring up!” She instructed her son who nodded, laughing at his mother’s constant nagging of “doesn’t feed the boy, skin and bones, thin as a snake” as she busied herself with measuring out the vegetables Katharine had finished thinning and chopping. After giving Katharine an accepting nod, the smiling woman went to laying the vegetables out on a plate to be served with some kind of spread that was as fluffy as a cloud.  
  
“Wait till she makes you eat Lamb Head soup,” Katherine whispered to Jean, who was now starting to feel the heat of the soup burn his tongue, the garlic and pepper nipping viciously at his taste buds. Yeah, he wasn’t snoring tonight, no doubt about that.  
  
At her words, Jean turned a worried glance to her, but she only laughed softly. “Don’t worry, it’s not time for lamb yet, spring’s still early.” Katharine said knowingly, patting Jean on the back before she led him over to Marco who was being taught a lesson on how to properly stir a pot of soup -- “But Ma, I know how to make soup -- I’m a chef, remember!” “Hah! You don’t feed your boyfriend, you don’t use spice in your meals -- how can I trust you to stir the broth correctly? Useless boy!” “Maaaaaaaaa.”  
  
Jean huffed out with laughter as Marco was once again good naturedly swatted in the chest by his mother. Jean always knew Marco was a Momma’s boy, but this was hilariously ridiculous. Ah, the blackmail he’d get on his boyfriend during this trip would be worth all the spicy food, little grappling children, and fuckin’ Nico Bodt.  
  
“Jean, can you give me a hand for a bit?” Katharine smiled at Jean as she gestured to a few plates stacked high with delicious looking party food -- meatball stuffed mushrooms, cheesy wedges of garlic bread, and grilled vegetables seasoned with lemon juice. Jean felt his mouth water. Dating a guy from a food loving family did have its perks.  
  
“Sure,” Jean agreed, helping carry an especially heavy plate of mushrooms steamed in some kind of sauce, a silver ladle peeking out from the edge of the plate.  
  
As the two walked into the spacious living room and laid the food out on a nicely set up table already slightly piled high with hors d’oeuvres and appetizers, Jean turned back to Katharine. “Doesn’t seem much like a funeral is about to happen tomorrow, huh?” He asked, helping the woman set out some napkins.  
  
A soft and almost sad smile appeared on Katharine’s face as she brushed a stray hair that had escaped her twisted bun from her face.  
  
“To be honest,” she turned to Jean, her eyes shining with just the smallest hint of mistiness, “no one liked Mr. Bodt.” She swallowed thickly, hands flickering over the already perfectly arranged napkins and wine glasses set out for the guests.  
  
“Not even Mrs. Bodt was very fond of him, well, at least, I believe she stopped loving him when the boys graduated high school. But she couldn’t leave; he got so sick. Why do you think only Mrs. Bodt’s relatives are coming to this event? It’s more of a celebration if anything else…” She confessed, her voice in a whisper as if maybe she shouldn’t be telling Jean this, but Jean was already heavily interested, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.  
  
“But I thought Nico--”  
  
“It’s an act,” She huffed, “He only pretends to follow in his father’s footsteps, ever since their father got sick, he’s been like that. I think he feels guilty if he doesn’t.” She shrugged. Running her hands down her dress that Jean realized was nicely pressed, the color a deep magenta, the weight of her words finally sunk into his mind. She was right -- if anything, this wasn’t a wake, this wasn’t the prelude to a funeral; it was an act of festivity, of relief. As bad as Jean felt about it, he was, indeed, relieved. This meant less stress for Marco; this meant that Jean’s boyfriend could breathe easily, at least for a bit tonight before he had to look at his father’s casket in the early morning light of tomorrow.  
  
“Jean, you okay?” She asked the other, squeezing his shoulder lightly.  
>  
Jean nodded, coming out of his dazed thinking for a moment. He nodded once more, not necessarily to her question, but to his own determination to protect Marco during this visit, as best as he damn well could.  
  
“Yeah, I’m okay.” After a sigh, he turned back to Katharine, and with a smile, sent a fleeting gaze back to the kitchen.  
  
“Let’s go back in there before she decides to hit him over the head with a frying pan.”  
  
“What, like a repeat of Christmas a few years ago?” Katharine giggled, and Jean swore she was only half kidding as she chuckled.  
  
…  
  
After Momma Bodt had found everything to her liking, she surveyed her prized meals, with the main course freshly warmed in the oven. It was a most delectable looking crisp-skinned porchetta with lemon and chili, flanked and complimented with something that Jean thought looked like a deep set bowl of the gnocchi he had been taste-tester for this afternoon, all dressed and swirled in with fava beans. Katharine herself was wiping her brow as she took a large plate of pork tenderloin that Marco had been working on for the last half hour, shooing her brother-in-law out of the kitchen as she handed the plate off to Rueben who set the meat down to rest.  
  
“Go, go, you guys still smell like car air freshener and Taleggio,” Katharine huffed breathlessly as she shooed both boys out of the kitchen. Marco sighed with sudden relief, looking very grateful for the chance to escape and change out of his long sleeved shirt which was dirtied beyond recognition from the flinging of soup and sauce from his mother’s ladle that she used like a sergeant’s crop.  
  
“Thank you,” Marco groaned, he and Jean handing off their aprons to the only slightly frazzled woman as she scooped up one of her kids just as he was about to stuff an entire handful of fava beans in his grubby little mouth. Little Tyler, as Jean came to be introduced to the tyke, whined in his mother’s arms, flinging the roasted legumes everywhere. Jean was pretty sure one made its way into his hair.  
  
“You sure you’re okay?” Jean asked, flinching as the child’s hands came dangerously close to smacking him in the face with some kind of pesto sauce.  
  
Katharine puffed a stray hair from her face, smiling tiredly, “Go, I’ll be fine, save yourself,” she laughed, heaving her child to sit on the sink counter where he would surely find his hands scrubbed most diligently by his mother.  
  
Jean, after sending her a pained apology, followed Marco back into the living room and up the stairs.  
  
After they made their way to their room and closed the door, Jean slid down the wooden door frame, exhaling a long winded breath.  
  
“I dunno’ how you do it man, shit.” Jean moaned, wiping his hand through his hair that he was pretty sure would permanently smell like pork and basil.  
  
Marco snorted as he shed his soggy sauce stained shirt, rolling it up into a ball before he dumped it in a laundry basket Rueben was nice enough to include in the room.  
  
“I’ve built up a tolerance to crazy from this family, hence why I can take Sasha’s abuse in the restaurant -- comes with being a Bodt.” Marco grinned, rummaging around in his suitcase for a clean nice party shirt. After a few minutes of searching he held up a slightly wrinkled but still presentable maroon button up, the other shirt in his hand a handsome short sleeved button up that was a solid olive green.  
  
“Okay, which one?” He asked, his brows furrowed in deep concentration as he waited for Jean to respond.  
  
Tiredly lifting up his sore hands (he was on stirring duty for almost half the day as Momma Bodt didn’t trust Marco with a wooden spoon), he pointed to the green one.  
  
Marco quirked his brow slightly. “Really?”  
  
“S’ more spring-ish.” Jean grumbled, wiping the weariness from his eyes. “Plus, I have a light gray sweater that I was gonna wear, we’d complement each other.” He yawned, making his way to his own suitcase in search of the clothes he planned to wear.  
  
“Aw, we are so domestic.” Marco hummed, sinking his arms into the sleeves of the olive shirt with a boyish grin.  
  
Jean snorted. “So sickeningly sweet it hurts.” Marco laughed, causing Jean to giggle as well until his breathless laughter turned into a somewhat uneasy cough.  
  
After a few seconds of hacking, Jean sucked in some much needed air into his lungs. He knew he was pushing it, wearing the binder for more than eight hours at a time, but he really felt like the sacrifice of feeling a little winded and lightheaded was easily doable in the grander scale of his peace of mind.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Marco asked, a slight tinge of worry in his voice as he sat next to Jean, rubbing soothing circles against Jean’s back with his warm palm.  
  
Jean grumbled, “Got about maybe a few more hours until a rib breaks,” He laughed nervously, only half joking. Marco didn’t seem to find Jean’s words funny, not one bit.  
  
“Take it off for a bit, walk around the room, I’ll get some of that Vicks rub, make you breathe better?” Marco suggested, already leaning next to the end of the bed, digging into the small compartments of his backpack where he kept Jean’s emergency supplies, Jean himself having a small pack where he kept Marco’s own medical eye supplies.  
  
“Hmm, I don’t think I brought any.” Marco pouted, his hands coming up empty from the satchel.  
  
Jean whined pitifully, digging himself deeper into the messed up covers of their bed.  
  
Marco rolled his eyes, “hold on, hold on, I know we usually have some in the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom.” Marco sighed, bringing his palm to Jean’s head, rubbing the other’s hair in a petting manner.  
  
“Sit tight, ‘kay babe?” Marco hummed, enjoying the fact that Jean was smiling sleepily back at him, delighting in the attention he was getting. Jean was like a big fuzzy grumpy cat, Marco thought with amusement.  
  
“’Kay,” Jean nodded, wedging himself deeper into the fluffy pillows of the bed.  
  
Marco chuckled as he left, muttering something about Jean being a spoiled brat.  
  
Jean sighed contentedly. That was, until he remembered that in about ten minutes the house would be swarmed with Marco’s mother’s entire family and Jean was going to have to not have a panic attack and instead engage in pleasantries.  
  
Grumbling slightly, his heart picking up speed in a frantic gesture, Jean heaved himself back into an upright position, shedding his sweaty Fall Out Boy shirt and throwing it against the wall, the cloth dripping halfway inside the laundry basket. Jean shrugged. Close enough.  
  
Rubbing his sore joints with his equally sore hands, Jean sniffed, wriggling his shoulders, working out the kinks in his neck. The coldness of the upstairs room made his muscles twitch, and shivering, he grazed his hands over to the right hand clasps of his binder.  
  
His fingers worked silently for the next few movements, unhooking each metal catch until finally, the sweet physical relief of a binder torn open hit him. Leaning over to rub the ache out of the middle of his back, he coughed a few times, hitting his back with his fist as he forced his lungs to take deep satisfied breaths.  
  
Once he felt like he could breathe relatively normally, he stood up, and as Marco advised, took deep gratifying breaths -- that was, until a knock was heard at the door followed by someone opening the door rapidly.  
  
Jean, squeaking momentarily, threw his arms up to his chest, eyes widening in mortification as his glance met the equally horrified gaze of Rueben Bodt.  
  
“Oh. My. God.” He whispered, eyebrows raised, hand still clutching the door knob, only now his knuckles had turned pale with his death grip.  
  
Still frozen in place, his face began to take on a reddened hue. “Oh. My. God.”  
  
Jean, finally finding his voice, turned around quickly. “Well -- get the fuck out!” Jean screeched, feeling his nails dig into his sides, the gray binder still open, still flapping coldly against Jeanls flesh like a scrap of shed skin that Jean had hoped no one would see pulled back, least of all Marco’s younger brother.  
  
Stuttering softly, before gulping a steadying breath of air, Rueben suddenly found his voice of reason as well -- “Ma! Marco! FUCK.” He shouted down the hall, his voice shaking as he suddenly made a dash into the hallway, Jean hearing his fast paced steps down the stairs.  
  
Mortified by the implications of Rueben’s sudden fear and incoherent shouting, Jean felt his heart catch in his throat. Hastily and clumsily securing his binder back in place with trembling fingers, he grabbed at the soft gray sweater he was going to wear and tore it on, not caring that it had ridden up his stomach in his haste.  
  
Sprinting out the door and jumping down the stairs, the family’s dogs excitedly following him, all yipping and barking, Jean was met with a sickening sight.  
  
Rueben was excitingly and with much fervor, trying to decipher just exactly what he saw of Jean to the occupants of the house, mainly, Marco and Mrs. Bodt.  
  
“He’s-- He’s, fuck, Marco!” Rueben dizzyingly whined, his eyes so glassy, hands moving fast in front of his face. Jean, sensing that not as much damage had been done as he originally thought, stumbled down the last set of stairs, meeting Marco’s shocked eyes in a flash of fear.  
  
“He walked in on me changing.” Jean whimpered, feeling sick to his stomach, Marco looking like the breath had been punched out of him at the other’s words.  
  
“What’s the meaning of this?” Marco’s mother immediately asked, looking to Marco for an explanation. She had slid nearer to Jean’s side, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulder. Jean felt his stomach lurch, wondering what would happen if she, one of the kindest motherly figures Jean had ever had in his entire life, knew about him.  
  
Marco, flicking his wide eyed gaze to first his mother, then to Rueben, and lastly to Jean, suddenly clenched his jaw, as if deciding on some vital movement.  
  
Turning a fresh and scarily smiling face to Rueben, the youngest Bodt felt his chest seize up as his eyes locked with Marco’s own. Abruptly, Rueben shrieked frighteningly at his brother’s change in demeanor, pivoting around in his gangly steps to race out the front door, Marco hot on his heels.  
  
Jean exhaled, sending a fleeting apologetic look to Marco’s mother, who looked very confused, to dart out the house in search of the two siblings.  
  
Loping down the slightly soggy lawn, his chest burning from lack of air, Jean caught sight of Marco wrestling a screaming and kicking and slightly laughing Rueben. Marco, having pinned his younger brother down, had resorted to tickling his sibling underneath his armpits.  
  
“Fu-fuck, Marco! Fuuu-ahahhahah---kh, kukuhahahah.” The teenager squealed, tears coming to his eyes as Marco, grinning down, moved his fingers to the other’s sides.  
  
“I’m gonna’ ahhaha I’m gonna-hurk-hah! Piss!” The younger Bodt cackled, trying to roll on his stomach to escape the torture.  
  
Jean, who was somewhat stunned at what the fuck was happening in front of him, kneeled down to Marco’s eye level.  
  
“What are you…?”  
  
But Marco was shaking his head, “this is how you shut up his big mouth,” Marco assured Jean, finally smacking his palm lightly over Rueben’s laughter gaped mouth. At the pausing of his brothers fingers, Rueben sniffed, his nose running some.  
  
“Marmph!” He shouted, eyes locking with Jean’s. The blond bit his lip, feeling his stomach twist something awful. Rueben knew.  
  
“Rueben, I’m going to explain something to you, okay? Just, listen, shit.” Marco panted, staring down at his brother. “Okay?”  
  
The younger brother seemed to consider this with a bit of annoyance before he nodded, making a displeased noise in the back of his throat.  
  
Marco smiled, softly, before he looked back to Jean for confirmation.  
  
Jean nodded shakily, trusting Marco enough to handle this.  
  
“Jean, Jean is not like other guys. He’s loud, he watches an abnormal amount of discovery channel documentaries -- he once stuck an old wad of gum that was wedged under a desk in his mouth for five bucks.” Marco huffed with laughter.  
  
Jean sent a glare to his boyfriend, “you want to sleep alone tonight?” Jean grumbled, elbowing Marco in the ribs. But his boyfriend just chuckled breathlessly, turning back to his brother who was now sporting an un-amused glare.  
  
“Jean is also, well, he’s transgender -- meaning the gender he was assigned at birth is different from his true gender identity. Do you understand that?” Marco asked, earning a narrowed eyed gesture of ‘not really’, from his brother.  
  
Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair.  
  
“Uh, you and I, we’re cisgender, we assigned male by the doctor when we were born and, uh, we feel our gender is in fact male. Right?”  
  
Rueben nodded, Jean could feel the annoyance ripple in waves from him.  
  
“Well, Jean’s the opposite...kinda.” Marco finished lamely.  
  
Rueben seemed to ponder this, shifting his gaze to Jean, as if he was inspecting him. The younger sibling made a motion of noise, trying to say something.  
  
Marco furrowed his brow, “promise you won’t shout -- or be offensive? You can’t out Jean either.” Marco muttered, as an afterthought. Rueben nodded vigorously.  
  
Finding he could trust his younger brother, he released his hand, Rueben taking a dramatic gulp of air.  
  
“Thank God, your hand smelt like fuckin’ garlic and basil, damn it.” He cursed, mock gagging, regaining his breath once more.  
  
After a few tense seconds, all teasing aside, Rueben’s face seemed to take on a softer approach, his eyes, so much like Marco’s, grew confusedly warm.  
  
“But I thought you were like, gay?”  
  
Marco huffed a laugh, Jean himself snickering.  
  
“I am.”  
  
This made the youngest Bodt scrunch up his face, “But I thought to be gay, you have to like, like dicks….right?”  
  
Marco seemed to consider this, but Jean beat him to it.  
  
“Not all guys have dicks. Some guys do, some guys have other things, not what maybe you would classify as a dick, but it’s how they classify it.” Jean shrugged, happy that at least Rueben was being somewhat civil. That was more than a lot of people gave Jean.  
  
“Like a dildo?”  
  
“As one example, yeah.” Jean smirked, “Marco certainly favors the strap-on, though.” Jean grinned, causing Marco to blush red.  
  
“Oh, gross, I don’t need to know about my brother and his boyfriend’s sex life!” Rueben squawked, though Jean was pleased to hear that Rueben was still using the masculine form of words. Perhaps not all was lost.  
  
“Plus, being gay means you’re attracted to the person of the same gender, not necessarily their body parts.” Jean concluded, scowling slightly at his knees that were now drenched in rainy grass water.  
  
Rueben took in a deep breath. “I guess.”  
  
“So you see, Jean’s not a normal guy -- and that’s what I like about him. He’s….” Marco seemed to struggle with his words before he barked out a laugh, “…He’s Jean!”  
  
Seeing the grin in his older brother’s face seemed to calm down the younger Bodt.  
  
With a sideways glace to Jean, he mumbled a soft “sorry about walking in on you, dude.”  
  
Jean nodded, accepting the apology. “It’s okay.” It was probably going to haunt Jean for life, but Jean could learn to deal with it, he had in the past. It was just another part of being who he was.  
  
“So, we good?” Jean smirked.  
  
Rueben nodded, “we’re good.”  
  
Then, glancing at Marco, Rueben huffed. “Now get off me you giant gorilla.” He whined. Marco feigned deep consideration before he smirked widely, “nope, don’t think so!”  
  
His brother shrieked with giggles as Marco went back to tickling him, that was, until a less than discreet cough was heard above the three.  
  
Craning their necks up, Jean was met with the less than impressed gaze of an elderly woman, her hair swept back in a pretty neat bun, not a silver hair out of place. She wore big clunky jewelry of glass beads and stones, and on her knobby fingers were shining Victorian rings, obviously heirlooms of the Bodt family.  
  
Swallowing the previous laughter in his throat, Jean smiled sheepishly at the little old woman as her gaze seemed to be evaluating him.  
  
“Ah, hello.” Jean held out his hand. The woman looked slightly offended at the offered appendage.  
  
“Ciao, Nonna.” Rueben was the first to break the awkward silence, his words slightly constricted from laughing so hard. Marco too, smiled up at the old lady, “Ciao, Nonna.” His brown eyes glinted with warmth.  
  
The old woman flickered her gaze to each boy before, with a slight roll of her eyes, she walked away, muttering “Idioti,” as she passed.  
  
“I think she likes you,” Rueben giggled, gesturing to Jean with a teasing smirk.  
  
Jean narrowed his eyes at the younger boy, then without a word, joined Marco in tickling the ever-living shit out of Rueben Bodt.  
  
…  
  
When Jean and Marco, dragging along a slightly grass stained and still wheezing Rueben Bodt, made it back to the house, they were greeted by the scrumptious scent of hot food waiting in over stuffed ceramic pots, deep dishes and painted and color glazed plates.  
  
Fumbling with the doorknob, Jean was about to close the door behind them, but at Rueben’s amused look, he pulled his hand back.  
  
“Marco told me you were from a small family,” he huffed, kicking the door open slightly so that the sweet crispness of the spring air melded in with the hot and spicy scent of the broiled meat and grilled vegetables.  
  
“Big family means big wave of people, can’t have everybody ringing the door bell, making the dogs go nuts till someone unlocks the door then locks it again and so on and so on,” Rueben droned on, moving his hands back and forth and back again to illustrate his point.  
  
Jean, nodding in understanding, left the door open ajar, though the movement itched underneath his skin in a small little bought of curious annoyance. Marco, rubbing at Jean’s side, kissed his cheek. “You’ll get used to all the weird quirks, I promise.” He assured the other, leading Jean back to the kitchen, Rueben chuckling slightly behind them.  
  
“He better, or else this family is going to swallow him alive.” He snorted, earning a slight glare from Marco and a worried frown from Jean.  
  
“You’ll do fine,” Marco whispered, herding Jean back to the kitchen where he spied Momma Bodt praising Katharine on her mulled wine that was set in a big cauldron like contraption. Jean, not bothering to question Momma Bodt’s cooking appliances and methods, just settled himself into one of the stools, chopping thinly at some carrots, Nico showing him the best method to get the root vegetable cut in the fastest way possible.  
  
“I can make a cook out of him yet!” Nico exclaimed happily, giving Jean one final gaze as Jean worked on his third carrot before he turned back to his wife, helping her tuck and fold the cuts of warmed garlic bread into little woven baskets to be set at the table.  
  
“See, I told you -- my boys always pick from good stock!” Momma Bodt hummed to the old little woman Jean met on the lawn, swishing her ladle in the air once more, Jean barely missed getting clonked in the head by the blunt instrument.  
  
“First I was blessed with Katharine -- best sous chef and daughter I could have ever asked for, and now I am blessed with this skinny little blond thing,” Momma Bodt grinned at Jean, her small little fingers coming to grip a tight hold of his chin, shaking it slightly. Then, letting go and patting his cheek, she turned her smile to Marco. “He is too good for you, you, who can’t even stir a soup counter clockwise.” She suddenly shouted teasingly, hip bumping Marco. Then, leaning over the fine granite counter, she snagged Rueben’s face before he could get away, kissing his cheeks.  
  
“One more to go, and whoever you bring home, they better at least know how to stir a soup!” She exclaimed, Rueben finally breaking free from his mother to wipe at his face, though he was smiling and laughing at Marco’s expense, his elder brother throwing his hands up in defeat.  
  
“Gee, I guess all those fantastic reviews at my restaurant and those four stars mean nothing, good to know, Ma.” But he smiled as he said it, going back to mincing up some tomatoes next to Jean’s own cutting board, Jean sending him a slight smirk. Marco rolled his eyes, happily content to work on the preparations for the meal alongside his boyfriend, Nico pouring them each a glass of wine while they chopped.  
  
After two bottles were open -- Nonna herself getting a large helping of the red -- everyone settled into their respective roles, frying or chopping, seasoning or tenderizing.  
  
However, the silence between the two men at their station, supplemented by each member in the kitchen chatting happily and joking or singing, was soon disrupted by the shrill and deep barks of the various Bodt dogs, each hound and terrier and herder leaping to the living room and supposedly the front door to greet the apparent guests.  
  
Calling out loudly from the depths of the deep and sunken carpeted living room came the call of “Helloooooooo!” made by what Jean suspected was a gaggle of aunts. What Jean was not, expecting, however, was everyone in the kitchen to immediately call back with a very loud, “AAAAAAYYYYYYYY!” Jean, blinking, dropped the knife he had been using to cut carrots onto the cutting board, wincing at the howls of the dogs that joined in on the chorus of greetings.  
  
In a flurry of welcoming noise, Jean still blearily blinking as if he had just woken up from an exceptionally quizzical dream, the shuffling wave of relatives amassed into the sweltering kitchen.  
  
Thankfully, like a life raft for the other, Marco grabbed at Jean’s arm with a sympathetic smile. Gesturing for the other to dislodge himself from his stool, Jean stood on wobbly legs facing a crowd of people who he did not recognize or know. Aunts with curled black hair aside the smooth brown skin of their face, eyes inquisitive and just a tad mischievous as they sent a knowing smile in a shared moment of gossip with another relative. Uncles snatching at unattended handfuls of slivered almonds that would be sprinkled on casseroles, earning a scolding smack on the shoulder from one lurking Nonna ready to strike at any sign of lacking manners. Cousins who popped bubble gum in the corner and raised the volume on their iPods, trying to act undecided if they really wanted to be there, sent a curious gaze to Jean, but didn’t bother to walk over to him – Jean was more than okay with that.  
  
However, it wasn’t long before the older members of the crowd noticed Jean’s presence. With keen eyes that Jean remotely realized were green and bright, one of the aunts honed in on him in an instant. After giving Nonna another quick kiss to her withered cheek, the old lady guffawing in return, the aunt was on the move.  
  
Voice curious, Jean barely caught the movement of her lips as she asked jeeringly, “and who are you?”  
  
Ever the champ at communications, Jean croaked out a wave of stuttering that seemed to amuse the taller woman to no end. Marco, thankfully, came to the other’s aid  
  
“Aunt Lizzie, this is my boyfriend, Jean.” Marco’s smile was bright and easy, the pride in his voice evident to both Jean and the prowling aunt. Finding comfort in that small affirmation that they were in this together, Jean licked his dry lips, smiling to the relative before him.  
  
“Hello, Aunt Lizzie—” Jean was about to say in way of greeting before, with a crushing hugs, he was silenced.  
  
“Oh, finally we get to meet you, and not through those damn flimsy Christmas cards you kids send your mom every year.” Aunt Lizzie hummed pleasantly to herself above the hustle and bustle that was already encroaching on the kitchen. Swaying Jean from side to side into her embrace, the other could do nothing but comply, his nose buried into her soft black hair curled into ringlets. At this rate, the two toned blond thought with a twinge of amusement, he would perfect the Bodt family hug in no time.  
  
After getting a heady whiff of lint and roses and the perfume of Marco’s aunt, she relinquished her startlingly strong hold on Jean. “Why, I could just lift you up over my knee and snap you like a twig!” She exclaimed as Jean stumbled out of her arms, feeling a warbled smile come over his face.  
  
“Please don’t,” Jean mumbled pleadingly, Aunt Lizzie instantly chuckling, dragging him over to the living room couches were a large flock of relatives were already seated and snacking on the various dishes Momma Bodt had helped to bring to creation. Sitting Jean down on a particularly soft cushion, she plopped down next to him, reaching over on the coffee table to pour two glass of wine – one for Jean and the other for her. Marco himself was hovering over the two with a slightly concerned mother hen face, his thumb brushing over the nape of his boyfriend’s neck protectively. Aunt Lizzie, was quick to catch on to her nephews worried glances.  
  
“Oh, hush, I’m not going to rip his balls off – I’ll be nice!” Marco’s aunt suddenly declared, the crisp white wine in her hand sloshing as she handed it over to Jean. The two toned blond just sipped lightly at the liquor, knowing he was kind of a light weight and did not want to present an opportunity to drunkenly let anything slip tonight in front of his boyfriend’s family.  
  
At Marco’s still unsure face that conveyed a sense of “I can get you out of this,” Jean patted his arm. “We’ll be fine – we’re just gonna’ bond.” Jean assured the other, Marco’s slightly unsure face wavering into a smile as he left them alone, his Aunt happily snatching up Jean’s hand and ushering in a giddy conversation that lasted well into the night.  
  
…  
  
Pacing back and forth around the edges of the hallway that led to the pantry and living room, Marco was thumbing at the small little velvet box in his front pocket. The weight of it seemed lighter than air, and yet the symbolic meaning of the little band of silver felt strong and bold when he thought about its shine and what it would look like on the other’s finger. That was, if Jean accepted.  
  
Marco ran his palm to the back of his neck, finding a slight collection of sweat from his burning nerves. Honestly, he didn’t quite understand why he was so nervous, it wasn’t like he thought Jean wouldn’t accept, wouldn’t want to share his life with him. They had talked about their future, a future together, and though it was slightly unspoken, Marco was pretty damn sure that it was a future in which they would both be wearing rings and standing at the altar.  
  
Making a pained noise in the back of his throat again, he turned on his heel to being his pacing once more. That was, until a pair of wearied old eyes that had been watching the tall Bodt, snatched at the pacing man’s arm.  
  
Marco, scared out of his mind, jumped as he felt the frail touch of his Nonna grab at his attention. Turning to look at the old woman who was narrowing her eyes up at the other, she shook his arm slightly before raising one of her hands to her chest, cradling it.  
  
“Nonna?” Marco asked, watching as the old woman twisted a few rings on her old fingers fondly, the shine and glitter on them still present after all these years. Two rings specifically shine brighter than all the rest, one poised on her thumb and the other snug on her ring finger – her and her deceased husband’s wedding bands.  
  
Wedging off her husband’s band off of her thumb, she pressed it into Marco’s shaking palms, closing his own fingers over it.  
  
“Oh, Nonna, no I can’t take that from you.” Marco cooed to the older woman but she stuck him with a quick stern narrow of her eyes, nudging at the velvet box in his pocket. Swallowing tightly, Marco produced the little object, the ring rattling slightly inside. With firm hands, she unopened the clasp like she was shucking an oyster expecting to find a pearl. Thumbing the simple silver band out, she inspected it. It was handsome, nice, and simple – but nothing compared to Marco’s grandfather’s ring, a rich silver with banded designs that Marco knew Jean would love.  
  
“Most of our money goes to the apartment and our classes….” Marco weakly explained, his grandmother tutting her understanding, patting his hands over the heirloom ring once more. “If…. If you’re sure…” Marco whispered, his Nonna nodding her head wisely, taking her grandson’s face in her little hands and craning his forehead down to be kissed. Smiling sheepishly and holding onto his grandfather’s ring in his nervously balled up fist, his grandmother patted him twice on the cheek before she went on her way, swinging her empty wine glass as she went, leaving Marco to sigh just a little bit easier in the slightly dark hallway.  
  
…  
  
It was only after Aunt Lizzie’s sixth glass of wine that the other relatives decided it was about time to really get into the personal questions. Having been sandwiched between two aunts and an uncle who were trying to drunkenly decide if Jean was French or German – and shooshing Jean himself when he tried to shed light on the apparent mystery of it all – it was decided by a narrowing down of qualities that his identity was disclosed. “Well he does have quite a strong nose, so maybe German?” Cackled the Uncle, however his wife who was picking at Jean’s hair and musing at its color replied, “maybe he’s a romantic and therefore French.” She stated, Aunt Lizzie giggled humorously, turning in her seat to settle her gaze on Marco who had come out of the hallway to settle himself at the kitchen divider to fish a beer out of the fridge.  
  
“Let’s ask Marco, he’d be a good judge of Jean’s prowess in bed,” she hummed, Jean gawking as she waved to the two-toned blond’s boyfriend and her nephew. “Hey, Marco! How’s he in the sack?!” She half-shouted, Jean blushing and sinking into his seat at the couch with mortification. There were children present for Christ’s sake! But at the outburst Marco seemed to only grin widely from his place at the granite countertop, sending his aunt a raving thumbs up. Both the aunts cackled, shouting in gleeful unison a mantra of “French! French! French!” till the crack of dawn.  
…

Snuggling into each other’s tired embrace, all thoughts of the impending doom they would both have to face tomorrow at the Funeral was haphazardly trying to be washed away with kisses and roaming hands under their itchy provided guest blankets. The funeral, Marco wordlessly implicated, would not be brought up between them for further conversation lest the somberness trying to clamor over them be let loose. Instead, they tried to delight themselves in a bit of fun, pushing back any thought of death far far away from their minds.  
  
It was after an exceptionally passionate kiss that had Marco breathlessly gasping into his pillow, that Jean wiped the hair from the other’s face as he settled himself down on the other’s chest. Giggling slightly, he tried to catch his breath as well.  
  
After a minutes pause of them panting into the quiet heat of the room, Jean chuckled.  
  
“Hey, isn't Nico sleeping next door?" Jean grinned wickedly, his hands stroking up and down Marco’s chest in slow ticklish movements.  
  
Marco adopted a devilish grin of his own. "The walls are thin." He smirked in agreement, a crazy look in his eye as he grabbed Jean’s hips, toppling the smaller man to fully lay on him, Jean’s legs tangled in his own.  
  
Jean laughed into Marco’s lips as he kissed him long and languidly, licking into the other man’s mouth, coaxing a moan that was suddenly very loud in the small quiet room.  
  
Marco pulled back, eye glassy, breath hot.  
  
"No, that's just too mean." Marco whined, pulling back, but then Jean was quick to nuzzle the freckled man’s neck, nipping lazily, sensually at the other man’s skin.  
  
"Marco, he shot your eye out when you were sixteen and in the Scouts. He filled your apple juice bottle with dog piss in the fourth grade. He ate all your Halloween candy during High School." Jean mumbled into the other’s jaw, his tongue licking up along the other’s neck to suck at the skin below the other’s ear -- the freckled man’s sweet spot. “Need I say more?” Jean smirked into the bite mark he had just nipped into his boyfriend’s tan skin.  
  
With a huff of amusement, Marco grinned wildly.  
  
"The fucker must pay." Marco growled with agreement, gnashing his teeth with Jean’s, his strong hands coming to squeeze Jean’s ass, causing the other to whine excitedly.  
  
"That's the spirit, Bodt," Jean panted, grinding his hips down against the other’s as Marco rolled his own upwards, the stirrings in their groins a welcoming sensation. Marco winced happily, enjoying the friction greatly.  
  
After a few seconds of mindless mewling and groaning, Jean paused to nip at his boyfriend’s ear.  
  
"I really hate Nico," Jean mumbled into the other’s skin with a sudden huff.  
  
Marco chuckled, wrapping his arms around Jean’s middle and squeezing tight, comfortingly. "I hate him too," he confided softly, his voice sounding almost strained.  
  
"We should totally just stab Nico." Jean mumbled sleepily into Marco’s warm freckled chest, too tired to do anything more exciting.  
  
All of the sudden Marco started to boisterously laugh, covering his face with a pillow to stop the chuckles vibrating out of his chest in the most hilariously violent manner.  
  
"Did you just quote Mean Gi--"  
  
"Go to sleep, freckles." Jean suddenly grumbled, snuggling into the crook of Marco’s shoulder.  
  
Marco sighed happily, the last of his giggles subsiding as he curled his fingers into the blond’s hair at the nape of his neck. Smiling happily, he dozed off in sleep.

…  
  
Today was the funeral, and as Jean suspected, the reality of it all hit Marco like a ton of bricks.  
  
The older man, standing before the room’s softly lit mirror, as the grayness of the early spring morning swam around him, had a look of somber terror about his face.  
  
“Babe, I’ll be with you the entire time, I promise…” Jean murmured into the shoulder of the other, the smell of the brand new pressed suit odd and almost cold, as if even the clothes they wore already smelled of death.  
  
Wearing a charcoal gray suit that matched the dark circles under his usually bright eyes, Marco sighed, a sound that was awful for Jean to hear. “I’m not sad, I know I’m not sad. Just… tired. I already said goodbye to him once, and now I have to do it again.” Marco whispered softly, Jean right there, always there to hold him close and whisper back a soft, “I know”. It was all the comfort the other could give as they made their way down the stairs and out the door and to the cemetery where Mr. Bodt senior was waiting to be buried.  
  
As the immediate family made their way out of Nico’s big gray van, the crunch of the gravel underneath Jean’s blackened shined shoes made the reality that this was happening all the more…real.  
  
Marco seemed to feel it too as he latched quickly onto Jean’s arm, the other physically feeling him shake as he stared statuesque ahead of him towards the little trail that would lead to the end, to what was left of his father.  
  
“I’m right here, I’ll always be right here.” Jean whispered to the other as they started to walk up to the plots. It would be a small affair, most of the relatives back at the house preparing a big dinner for that night, Mr. Bodt lacking a large bought of relatives on his own side as well as apparently not being too favorable with his wives’ kin. Jean himself was glad for the smallness of the occasion, hopefully the private nature of the funeral would allow Marco to breathe.  
  
When they finally reached the outcrop, Jean and Marco’s shoes were shined wet with the morning dew from the green grass, the sky above them as perfect as ever with a slopping mass of clouds against robin egg shell blue sky.  
  
Jean absently squeezed at Marco’s hand, the other murmuring a quiet grunt of appreciation as they took their seats. In front of them laid an open oak casket shined honey in color, the cream of the inside cushions looking soft to the touch. Jean knew that what lie on that softness however was stiff and dead and not real any longer, Jean only hoped Marco had come to the same conclusion.  
  
The service was dry and slightly short, as Nico was the only one who wished to say something on behalf of his father – Rueben deciding to peer into the casket but do nothing much else expect for sneaking worried glances at his older brother. Momma Bodt, Jean noticed, did not cry once through the entire affair, though she held tightly to both Jean and Katharine’s hand on either side of her in a crushing vice as if to steady herself.  
  
As the event drew to a close, with hardly any a tear shed, everyone stood from their flimsy metal chairs, a heaviness forced upon then from the horrid exchange of understanding that Mr. Bodt was dead and that the living must move along with that fact and do their best to not kill each other over heated tempers.  
  
Walking back to the car, stiff and slightly sweaty from the spring sun washing over them the entire time, Marco leaned into Jean’s comforting presence. His boyfriend rubbing at his arm and whispering into his shoulder, “You're okay, you're okay, I got you -- I'm so proud of you.”  
  
…  
  
Mrs. Bodt was the first one to wade through the front door, Katharine hugging her mother in law and helping her over the threshold, the older woman exhausted beyond recognition. Still nursing her slightly damp eyes, she sniffed the air of the house, almost melancholy before being swarmed by the warm arms of her brother and two sisters, her family that stayed behind to cook the evening meal huddling her to them.  
  
“Jean, Katharine, come help me with setting the table, won’t you?” She hummed over her shoulder to the two, both of them nodding, Katharine stepping forward with a soft “yes, Momma”. Jean himself snatched at Marco’s arm, rubbing soothingly up and down it. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to make sure she’s alright. Why don’t you go start getting changed and I’ll meet you?” Jean murmured to the other, Marco nodding slightly stiffly as he kissed Jean’s cheek, Jean squeezing his hand and returning the brush of lips. Marco seemed to relax some by the time he let Jean’s fingers slip from his fingers, loosening his tie and heading up the plush stairs. A few of the dogs following him up as he went.  
  
However, with a sudden brush of shoulders, Marco bumped into a tense Nico. Eyes that were previously downcast snapped upward, the oldest of the Bodts clenching a bottle of baby formula in his hand for what Marco guessed was for baby Clara. In an instant the bottle was thrown to the floor, the plastic thumping against the carpet of the stairs to roll under the sofa with a skid.  
  
If anyone had been paying closer attention at the happenings of the funeral, they would have known Nico was like a short fuse since the drive back from burying his father. Mad, distressed, and maybe slightly guilty for feeling relieved – Nico needed a scapegoat in that moment, and Marco fit the bill perfectly.  
  
With a low growl, Marco tried to move up the stairs, “I don’t need this right now.” Nico only clenched his fists, grabbing at Marco’s collar in a flash and dragged him up the stairs that seemed to squeak under their combined weight. The dogs started to bark madly from the living room floor as the first punch was unleashed.  
  
“You killed him, you know -- he died broken hearted because his son, his son just wouldn't abide by his wishes. You had to fucking go and leave us, leave Ma’ and me and Rueben, fuck Marco. Was it worth it?!” The words were like a slurred storm, Nico’s height looking suddenly threatening to the other as Marco grappled to free the other’s hold from him. His jaw already stung from the others knuckles.  
  
Barreling forward and using the taller and larger Bodts weight against him, Marco slammed him against the hallway wall with a loud thud, Nico quick to reverse the situation by hoisting Marco and throwing him down the hall with a hefty punch. Wrenching the other back up, Nico seethed, his eyes glassy with tears, teeth bared. Below them they could hear their relatives clamoring up the stairs to reach the two that had now started to twist in each other’s grip. The dogs would not stop howling and growling at the top of the stairs around them.  
  
Marco was fairly sure he heard Rueben’s voice croaking above the yipping of the dogs, alerting their uncle and aunts to where they were, for in an instant Nico was suddenly yanked off of him and skidded to the wood paneling of the small hallway.  
  
However, wiping at his spit lip, Marco couldn’t help his eyes from widening as he spied Jean, who must have had to lope up the stairs two at a time to reach them, looming over Nico.  
  
With a stern narrow look in his eyes, Jean stared Nico down. Panting and glaring up at his brothers boyfriend, Nico spats out a bark of “Faggot,” and as soon as the word leaft his lips, he regretted it, didn’t mean it, but it was too late. Snarling, Jean heaved the heavier man up by his suit lapels and slammed him against a door --- the walls vibrated with the force, family photos rattling.  
  
“Now you listen here, you son of a bitch. You don't have to like me, you don't even have to be civil to me -- but you know you do have to like? Who you have to live with for the rest of your life? The relationship you have that’s hanging by a thread?!” Jean jerked his gazes away from Nico to settle his eyes quick as a flash on Marco who was slumping in the arms of his uncle, wide eyed and slightly panting.  
  
“Him. Your brother. Your fucking brother.” Each sentence exclaimed with another harsh lurch of Nico slamming into the wall.  
  
“He's the one that's with you today. He's the one that's alive. He's the one who you're hurting right fucking now!” Jean growled with a huff, releasing his harried hold on the other, allowing the larger man to slump and slide down the door and to the plush carpet, dead quiet from shock in his stupor.  
  
Clearing his throat, face flushed from anger, Jean walked quickly to Marco, hand on his back soothingly. Without a word he led the dazed other to their room, quietly closing the door and setting his boyfriend down on the couch. They didn’t speak as Jean undid the buttons of Marco’s shirt, dragging the stiff material of the suit off of his shoulders and unlacing his shined shoes. After the other was dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats, Marco, still staring down at his hands limp at his lap, whispered, “thank you”.  
  
With a kiss that meant everything to the other, Jean murmured achingly, “of course”.  
  
It was later in the night, Jean petting Marco’s chest as the other grabbed and cuddled him in their offered bed, that they received a soft rapping at their door. Through the wood Jean recognized Rueben’s slightly worn voice from behind the door, his words strained as if he had been crying.  
  
“Nico wants to talk to us…”  
  
Jean could feel Marco swallow thickly, the column of his throat against the other’s shoulder. Jean kissed his temple, stilling his body until Marco stiffly heaved himself up on his elbows, sliding out of the bed, never letting go of his boyfriend’s hand even as they walked slowly down the steps.  
  
The house was dark, living room quiet as Jean sat himself down on the couch with Katharine, Momma Bodt stirring slightly in the kitchen wrapping up leftovers and pouring herself glass after glass of wine, watching worriedly as Marco, Rueben, and Nico walked silently through the back door to talk on the patio.  
  
Katharine rocked her baby in her arms softly, murmuring that all the yelling before had woken Clara up with a fit. Jean made a noise of understanding, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the other, craning his neck to look over the sofa occasionally, to try and catch a glimpse of Marco, of his kind eyes now circled by sleepless dark smudges, freckles rubbed red in a futile attempt to get rid of the tears left on his cheeks.  
  
It was ten minutes into the silence that the three in the house heard the unmistakable sob of Nico Bodt.  
  
The siblings seemed to stay outside for the longest time, Nico crying out apologizes to his two little brothers as they themselves tried to come to terms with what Jean could only assume was an end to a long drawn out hostility.  
  
Jean wouldn’t learn it yet until the ride home with Marco, but after Nico’s heartfelt act of regret, he swallowed Marco and Rueben both in a loving hug, crying into the other’s shoulders for three minutes straight.  
  
In the living room, the worried three at the couch could of course hear the crying, seeming to be nonstop, and it filled them with a sense of long overdue relief.  
  
Momma Bodt herself grabbed silently at Katharine and Jean’s hand in each of her own, squeezing them tight and sure, her grip warm. With tears dripping like morning dew down her cheeks, she nodded quietly at each and every sob she could hear from the darkness of the backyard patio.  
  
The fighting was finally over.  
  
…  
  
Marco was the first to slide the glass door open, wiping at his eyes with a tiredness that gnawed at his wilting shoulders and bit at his dragging ankles. Making his way toward where he last left Jean, in the living room, he collapsed on his boyfriend on the couch. Curling up in the two-toned blond’s lap, Jean only grunted softly as he adjusted to hug Marco, rubbing the suddenly clinging and cuddling man who had relaxed in his lap.  
  
“Hey, shhhh baby, it’s all over. It’s all over, baby. You’re safe and everything’s alright.” Jean promised the other, earning a softened shuddering cry that Jean smoothed away with kisses at Marco’s wet cheeks and curled fingers in his hair.  
  
After a few minutes that passed with the ticking of the old grandfather clock by the front door, Jean nestled his cheek against the side of Marco’s face. “Go to sleep, okay? I'm not going anywhere.” Jean cooed, murmuring sweet endearments into the other’s hair for as long as he could until he couldn’t feel his toes curled under his legs anymore due to numbness. Binder tightening against his chest and making his back ache, Jean nudged at his boyfriend who twenty minutes ago had started to snore in his deeply lulled sleep.  
  
Shifting in his seat that was beginning to bite into his elbow and lower back, Jean regrettably found he had to wake the other up, knowing Marco and he himself would feel much better sleeping in a comfortable and warm bed.  
  
“Baby, I'm sorry, but we need to move to the bed, okay?” Jean whispered into the other’s ear, already gathering up Marco’s sleepy limbs, Marco mumbling slight in his sleep.  
  
“'m so tired….Hurts t' be 'wake.”  
  
Jean cooed his agreement, “I know, sweetheart, I know, but just two more minutes. Just two, I promise.” Helping to prop the other up, Jean all but dragged the other up the stairs, Marco’s feet heavy as he followed Jean tiredly, eyes fluttering closed every two seconds.  
  
Once tucked into the privacy of their own room, Jean made quick work of tucking Marco into the crisp and cool covers of their bed, helping to take the other’s eye out before placing it neatly back in its little box by the bedside table.  
  
Lying in bed next to the other, Marco clinging to him with his nose buried into Jean’s shoulder, the other just held him tighter. Legs entwined and heavy breath at his cheek, Jean couldn’t help himself from stroking at the other’s hair with a gentleness that had Marco soon fast asleep with a smile quickly slipping onto his face.  
  
The last thought Marco remembered having that night before he passed out was, ‘Yeah. Tomorrow. I’m proposing to him tomorrow.’  
  
…  
  
When morning came Jean couldn’t even deny the fact that they both probably looked like crap. Eyes crusty, mouth tasting stale and slightly salty, and voices cracked and wrecked with crying and sobs greeted them when they stirred just around 10:45 in the morning. Jean twisted in the sheets, yawning as he scratched at his belly and made a grab for Marco’s shoulder in the same movement, Marco having stretched to sit up and put his eye in sleepily.  
  
As they turned to look at each other, they both couldn’t help but grin, smiles wide against their lips. As the morning sun swam and filled their room from the blinds they forgot to pull down last night, they felt more relaxed, as if a big weight had been shrugged from their shoulders leaving them able to breathe more easily than they ever had since they stepped foot in this house.  
  
However, the moment was slightly lost, though not shattered, as they heard a timid knocking at the door. Rueben, apparently and thankfully having learned his lesson about not barging unannounced into a room, cheerfully called out to the two, notifying them that breakfast was ready and they should hurry their butts down if they wanted so much as a bit of toast before it as all eaten.  
  
After dressing in modest pajama bottoms, his Metallica shirt loose over his binder, and Marco’s hoodie, Jean deemed himself okay to greet the Bodt clan down stairs, Marco murmuring he would join him in a minute.  
  
If Jean could describe it, he would say everything in the house just seemed to feel….lighter. It made him smile, his grin returned to him instantly by those seated at the table and already nibbling at their bacon fried to a crisp and slurping at their hot coffees.  
  
After scraping the last of his eggs off his plate and on his fork, stuffing them in his mouth, Marco finally shuffled into the kitchen, seeming a bit more awake then he had a few minutes ago. Jean greeted him with a squeeze on his knee as he sat himself down next to him, swiping the other’s orange juice with a smirk.  
  
Jean wasn’t sure if Marco noticed it, but Nico was smiling softly to himself through the entire meal, his grin even lightening up all the way up to his softened brown eyes.  
  
…  
  
After breakfast had been enjoyed with the company of Momma Bodt’s siblings, they said goodbye to the aunts and uncles and the rest of them made their way to the backyard patio, Jean settling himself down on one of the wooden chairs happily, Rueben and Katharine at either side of him, her three children playing near the red-orange nasturtium flowers of the garden.  
  
“Oh, Nico, Marco, could you help me? I want to make mimosas…” Momma Bodt hummed as she stood from her chair with a little bit of effort, Jean reaching up and out of his chair to help the other woman, handing her off to Nico. “Oh, thank you, Jean.” She spoke with a gentle smile, something glinting in her eye that had Jean shrugging and smiling back.  
  
Marco winked slightly to Jean as he followed his mother and brother back into the kitchen, leaving Jean and Rueben to play with the dogs crowded around them that were banging their tails against their leg, Katharine herself laughing when both of them ended up covered in sprigs of dog hair and slight slobber.  
  
When Momma Bodt and two of her boys came back from the kitchen, each carrying a small tray of tall glass flutes filled with a more than generous helping of champagne with just a splash of orange juice, Jean knew something was a little out of place by the entire suppressed quietness of it all.  
  
Jean watched with a curious smile as each member of the family was handed a drink – Rueben even earning himself a glass after pouting pathetically at his mother who gave in quiet easily, handing the youngest his champagne which had him smiling with delight.  
  
Marco, fishing two glasses from the tray, made his way over to Jean, stopping before him with a shy grin that had Jean quirking his eyebrow in interest. Laughing slightly and making a move to grab at one of the glasses, Marcos hum stopped the other, his eyes kind as he leaned over Jean to place the flutes at the table and away from his still empty hands.  
  
“Marco…?” Jean was about to question at the put away drinks when he turned back to the other only to find that he had gotten down on bended knee before him.  
  
“Oh…” Jean whispered, his voice like a wisp in his throat as he watched with widen eyes as a small smoothed black box seemed to magically appear in a cupped nest of Marco’s palms.  
  
Jean almost missed the nervous chuckle of the other’s voice, his eyes blinking softly, slowly, knuckles white at the arms of his chair. “Oh.” He murmured again, this time his voice slightly shaking.  
  
Marco’s boyish smile never wavered as he popped open the lip of the box, revealing what was indeed a ring, a beautiful handsome ring that gleamed into Jean’s eye like a captive star.  
  
Clearing his throat as if to stave off the weight of a nervous stutter, Marco stared at Jean wholly, perfectly. Jean felt his eyes becoming misty, a dampness at his cheeks already. He was crying and he didn’t think he would be able to stop.  
  
“I..I had a big speech planned out, and… and I was going to tell you, I was going to tell you…” Marco suddenly started to laugh slightly, a bemusement to his voice that had Jean laughing as well, eyes still shined with tears of fluttering happiness. “It… it doesn’t… You know what? It doesn’t matter what I was going to tell you – it matters what I’m going to tell you now. Jean. Jean I just can’t see myself with anyone else, no one completes me, makes me feel happiness, like you do. I didn’t even know this was what happiness felt like until I met you. I only want to make sure we both feel that way, together, for the rest of our lives.” Marco spoke breathlessly, jittering slightly on his ankle and knee, looking bashful for all of three seconds before he smiled shyly back at the other.  
  
“Jean Kirschtein, will you marry me?” It was like a rush of breath as the words finally escaped his lungs, his gaze expectant and eager on the other’s. He was not disappointed.  
  
Launching himself out of the slightly rickety wooden chair, Jean tackled Marco, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressed his face into his neck with a sob, tears staining the other’s shirt.  
  
“Yes! Yes, of course, yes!” Jean babbled, choking on an ecstatic laugh as he felt Marco hug him tighter, breathing sighs of relief into his shoulder as he clumsily fitted the ring on the other’s finger, the weight feeling nothing like Jean had ever experienced, and he found he very much liked it.  
  
Finding his breath, Jean reeled himself backwards, knees hard on the brick of the floor, legs tangled halfway on his fiancé’s lap. With a grin that equaled Marco’s in brightness, Jean grabbed both sides of Marco’s face with his hands, yanking the other forward for a deep kiss. Marco eagerly returning the fervor in the other’s kiss with his own lips, squeezing at Jean’s hips and shoulder, dragging him deeper to the patio floor till they were both a breathless kissing and giggling mess.  
  
All around them they could hear the snapping of claps, of the dogs yipping happily and of a stray champagne cork being popped.  
  
Finally dragged away from the kiss with the need to breathe and not be pounced on by happy jumping and crooning dogs, Marco and Jean found themselves sharing a seat at the patio table, not willing to part with each other for a second.  
  
In the end, Jean was able to have a glass of champagne and a wedding toast to match.  
  
…  
  
After showing off the ring, which was a tiring and joyous event that involved a very red-rimmed and tear stained Jean trying to hold back more of his blubbering and a handful of Marco’s cousins smacking him on the shoulder in jealousy that Nonna let him give away her ring, Jean and Marco had packed and made the long trip home. They grinned all the way down the highway as they went, holding hands tightly. They didn’t even fight over the radio, not once.  
  
As soon as the car was wedged in front of their apartment building, the brake squeaked and the car doors unlocked – they scampered out of Marco’s jeep, luggage in tow. They made it to the top of their apartment in record time, giggling like little kids as they went, sharing pecks on cheeks and eager hands palming at arms and shoulders. Jean couldn’t help himself from staring at his ring as they jogged up the steps, too impatient for the elevator, his gaze drifting to Marco’s own hand, which sported a new ring as well, the two having stopped at a jeweler on the way home. Jean had happily bought the handsome silver ring with a smile, loving the way Marco’s eyes shone when he slid it onto the other’s hand.  
  
Even though Jean knew they weren’t married yet, he couldn’t help himself as he suddenly paused at their apartment door that was already before them, Marco finally jamming the right key into the lock and yanking it open with an overzealous tug and a hum.  
  
Kicking the suitcases in, Marco was about to close the door behind him when he noticed the other had stilled himself before the opening, grinning sweetly, shyly, as he cleared his throat.  
  
“Carry me over the threshold, because I sure as hell can’t carry your fine ass.” He chuckled, Marco returning the laugh full heartedly as he grabbed at Jean, the other squawking as Marco easily swung him in his arms, kicking the door shut as he sprinted in the direction toward their bedroom.  
  
Falling onto the bed, Jean wasted no time unzipping his jacket off, yanking his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side. By the time he was done with sliding off his pants Marco was already leaned over him, naked, kissing at his neck with desperation.  
  
“Hm, eager, aren’t we?” Jean sighed as he felt Marco swat his own hand away from the two-toned blond’s boxers, Marco himself choosing to thumb at the waistband.  
  
“Been hard since we got off the interstate highway,” he growled into the other’s ear, earning a smirk and a shiver for his troubles.  
  
“I have just the perfect remedy for that…” Jean grinned, his hands teasing at the other’s wrist that held his boxers taunt at his hips, the material sliding ever so slightly downward.  
  
Marco gave his own smile of approval as he grabbed a fistful of the cloth and practically ripped it downward, not even bothering to flick it off at the crook of the other’s ankles, the plaid pattern dangling off of Jean’s toes as Marco sunk against the familiar curve of the other’s body. His entire being shivered as he ran his hands over the other’s skin, flesh that he was promised to be bound to, in holy matrimony, forever and ever. Marco swallowed thickly in his throat, though not with nervousness, but with an excitement that coiled at his stomach and made his breath hot in his lungs as he nestled his lips against the other’s for a much anticipated kiss.  
  
“Can’t believe you said yes,” Marco gasped into the kiss, Jean chuckling as the other’s lips trailed open mouth kisses at the corner of his mouth, his neck, his shoulder. Jean didn’t miss the way the other’s hands had become greedy, palming at the feeling of his left hip while the other grabbed a handful of his ass, rolling the flesh between his fingers and delighting in the pleased gasp that was drawn out of the other’s throat.  
  
“Of course I’d say yes, you idiot…” Jean whispered happily, his toes curling as Marco paced his kisses to be faster and more adventurous, the hand that was at his hip shedding the white binder around the other’s chest and flinging it at the wall of their bedroom as if it personally offended him. Jean had come a long way from being embarrassed about his chest, Marco always being gentle and kind when handling any area of skin that Jean was more than a little antsy about. But now Jean’s heart was pounding in his ears and his throat was tight with an oncoming onslaught of owns that he knew Marco could enticement out of him with a single swipe of his tongue or flick of his finger. Jean hitched his knees upward, deciding he was more than happy to fill their bedroom with the sound of his groans of pleasure.  
  
Marco kissed breathlessly, urged on by slight whines and the rolling of the other’s hips into Marco’s already flushed cock that was aching and wanting for the other’s touch and heat. “Shit, Jean, can’t wait to have you…” Marco breathed into the other’s skin, replacing his lips with his teeth as he bit the inside of the other’s thigh, Jean squealing slightly, Marco taking advantage of his surprise to grab at each knee, spreading the other wide.  
  
Jean arched his back, finding that perhaps he should be embarrassed that he was already wet and throbbing, legs spread wide open. However, a chaste kiss at his ankle that followed with a trail of butterfly kisses all along his inner leg and thigh, had Jean sliding his legs even easier apart. Bucking slightly upward and only meeting air and not the other’s body, Jean began to grow frustrated.  
  
“You want me, hah, you… you have me.” Jean confirmed, sitting up on his elbows, trying to find out where the other had gone, finally content when he saw Marco walking back to the bed with a spring in his step, a roll of condoms and a bottle of lube held triumphantly in his hand.  
  
Jean let out a languid sigh of happiness as he reclined back, scooting his ass up so that his face was buried in the twos pillows that smelled of their mixed scent – something along the line of honey and grapefruit. However, Jean’s melding thoughts were soon interrupted by a sudden warmth settling itself against his wetness, the softness of the touch making Jean keen.  
  
“Ah, shit, Marco, wha…?” Jean grabbed at a crumpled section of the bed sheets, digging his blunt nails into the fabric as he gasped, his body automatically rutting into the warm heat that was insistently flicking against his now aroused cock.  
  
Marco could only grin back, practically purring against Jean’s wet heat that tasted wonderful on his lips, his tongue working the other nice and open. Marco knew all of Jean’s sensitive spots, had memorized them a long time ago, and he had no problem reducing the other to a sobbing wreck on the bed by the time he thrust his dick into him. Jean was going to be begging long before that happened, Marco would make sure of it.  
  
His hands squeezing at the other’s flesh, Marco lifted Jean’s ass up, his mouth all but devouring the other as he licked up into him, flicking the tip of his tongue maddeningly slow against Jean’s cock, the sound of the other’s cries music to his ears.  
  
“Gotta’ make sure you’re nice and wet, babe.” Marco licked his lips, chasing the taste of the other on his lips as he lifted his eyes to meet with the other’s. Jean’s gaze had long since glazed over, his elbows tucked into his sides as he ground into the sheets, throat exposed in bliss. “Already…Ah…” Jean licked his dry lips, hiccupping on his next gasp. “Already wet…”  
  
Marco smirked, moving to bite softly at his thigh, “not wet enough.” He murmured, earning a whimper from his fiancé, Jean suddenly tensing, back arching.  
  
“Ahhhh, you came.” Marco chuckled, watching as Jean’s stomach strained only to flutter back down, his lungs trying to regain a steady intake of breath. “And from just a bite? Why, Jean, I’m flattered.”  
  
Jean whimpered at the realization, his voice hoarse, fingers shaking and knees slipping from Marco’s grip to fall lopsided at the bed. “Fuck.” He sighed, feeling his cum sliding from his opening to drip down his thighs.  
  
Running a finger experimentally against the blond’s opening, Jean suddenly bucked, cussing into the softness at the pillow at his cheek, his hair already matted with sweat. Marco grinned happily, loving how sensitive Jean always became after orgasm, his opening having been throbbing and twitching with every curl of Marco’s tongue.  
  
“Blame yourself for this slow pace,” Marco chuckled, returning his finger back against the other, stroking teasingly at the little bump that was Jean’s cock, the other letting out a hiss. “You make my cock so hard, I just wanna watch you become debauched before I even fuck you. Make you nice and open for me, till you beg for me to cum in you.” Marco groaned as he finally slid the first digit into Jean, the other arching his hips greedily to meet the crook of the appendage, squirming pleasantly at the intrusion. He was already desperate for his next orgasm and the other knew it.  
  
“Fuck,” Jean’s growl quickly turning into a whine as Marco, without warning, added a second finger to join the first, thrusting them slightly together. Jean twitched and shivered at the unmistakable coldness of lube joined this particular thrust.  
  
Jean wailed, gnashing his teeth together he rutted against those fingers that not soon enough for the two-toned blond became three. Three perfect long fingers that Jean swore were trying to stretch him as open as possible, eliciting a slight sting from the stretch, making him breathe for a few seconds long and deep, gasping.  
  
“You alright, beloved?” Marco sighed contentedly as he felt Jean’s heat clamp tight at his fingers, Marco twisting his wrist to get at the prefect angle.  
  
Jean nodded, the motion making him almost dizzy, licking embarrassingly at his lips that were shined with spit.  
  
“Want you…” Jean whispered, shifting into the mattress that he knew was already drenched in their sweat and spit, even the blond’s cum.  
  
“Want me to what?” Marco smiled earnest and innocent, but Jean knew his fiancé wanted him to beg – and Jean was already needy and starved for the other’s touches, so he complied with only a slight curling of his lip.  
  
“Hm…Want you to…hnn…ah, fuck me with your cock, ah, rough n’ hard.” Jean snarled, slurring his words slightly.  
  
Marco, smile never leaving his face, was already ripping open a condom package, sliding it over his cock and biting on his tongue to keep the groan that desperately wanted to clamor free from his mouth at bay.  
  
“Of course, my betrothed,” Marco leaned into Jean, their chests sliding against each other, both dappled with sweat. Jean made a grab for Marco’s neck, pushing him forward and clashing their lips together, the other’s comment just too perfect to be left unrewarded. The kiss was slightly painful in its haste, but within a second their tongues were already gliding against each other, Jean absently realizing he could taste himself on Marco’s tongue.  
  
Groaning into the kiss and feeling the other’s insistent clawing at his back, Marco made a grab for his dick; lining it up feverishly fast against Jean’s well worked opening. Nudging his head against the other’s wetness, Jean broke the kiss to gaps for breath, rolling his hips slightly into the hardness he felt against him.  
  
Nothing could have stopped the eager jolt that caused Marco’s hips to connect with Jean’s rutting, his dick slowly but surely being sheathed in all that was Jean.  
  
“Oh, Marco, fuck.” Jean joined the other in a moan, pressing his knees into Marco’s sides, the other wincing at the incredible heat the other possessed. God, had he missed this tightness.  
  
“M…Move.” Jean suddenly ordered, locking his arms around the other’s neck, vaguely aware that the skin at their stomachs and chest was burning to the touch whenever Marco thrust into him.  
  
“Good, Jean, you’re so good…” Marco praised the other, rocking into the other’s heat faster and faster, Jean feeling so blissed out and wrecked he couldn’t even speak, let alone coherently give a smug reply.  
  
“Not gonna’… last…” Marco cried out, as if the words had been strangled from his throat. Jean knew as much from the way the other’s thrusts were getting more and more erratic, the curve and thickness of Marco’s cock making it damn near impossible for Jean to think of anything but finding his release and finding it soon.  
  
Marco had already wrecked Jean beyond all thoughts other than the pleasure his soon-to-be-husband was giving him, and he hoped the other realized as such.  
  
“Mhmm… ha…M…Marc…o.” Jean gasped, the other’s name hot on his tongue. Marco grunted in acknowledgement, pressing biting kisses into Jean’s neck, laving at the bruises and marks he made at the other’s skin.  
  
“C..cum… inside…pl…plea…” Jean hiccupped his gasp, feeling Marco’s hold on his hip and thigh tighten as the other plunged forward two more times before Jean could feel the other’s orgasm hit him.  
  
Finding that the coil in his stomach and groin finally snapped for the second time that day, Jean jerked his hips up into Marco’s final thrust. Fingers digging into the othe’rs back that he knew would be clawed red, Jean found his own release sneak up on him, unraveling him without mercy.  
  
They both came with a shout of the other’s names on their lips, accompanied by moans torn right from their throats.  
  
After collapsing onto the other, stilling inside him for half a minute to regain feeling in his arm and legs, Marco finally rolled off a still sensitive Jean. Sliding out of his fiancé, Jean twitching slightly and trying to chase the feeling of being so full, Marco disposed of the dirty condom and sank back under the covers with the other.  
  
Jean yawned happily, grabbing for Marco under the blankets, scooting against his side as Marco planted his nose against Jean’s neck, breathing deeply.  
  
After a long, sweetened silence, Jean finally spoke. “We’re getting married…” He mumbled, his voice sounding so very pleased. Marco grinned, a sleepy smile full of bright teeth and ecstatic happiness.  
  
“We’re getting married.” He confirmed, burrowing deeper into the other’s neck, earning an amused snort from the other.  
  
Jean made a grab for the other’s hand under the slightly too hot sheets, yanking Marco’s limp arm out from under the sheets. Marco made a slight motion of protest, rubbing lightly at his eye before sleepily collapsing back onto Jean’s shoulder. Jean smirked, humming contentedly as he clasped his and his betrothed’s hands. The glinting silver of the rings peeking through their entwined fingers was all that Jean needed to fall peacefully asleep in the arms of the man he loved more than anything in the world.


End file.
